


A Firm Hand

by Farasha



Series: Yuletide Smut 2015 [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Begging, Light BDSM, M/M, Self-Bondage, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin was certain he had figured lovemaking out, as surely as he'd figured out swordplay - but Bilbo has a few more things to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Firm Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avelera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/gifts).



It was strange to Thorin, how easily life settled into routine. Reconstruction occupied much of the business of Erebor, with the living quarters and the market set as priority over anything else. Bilbo moved what belongings he had with him into a set of chambers with Thorin, high in mountain and far above where Thorin had dwelled as a child. Thorin found he did not mind overmuch. The royal quarters held the softer memories of his childhood and the heavy grief of his losses in equal measure. He would face those ghosts someday, he was sure, but he suspected Bilbo would not be rousted from where they made their home now.

For one thing, these chambers had windows and a door leading out to a small balcony where Bilbo had become accustomed to taking his evening pipe. For another, the hobbit had entrenched himself here by virtue of rearranging the meager furniture they'd acquired on a near weekly basis until he had it positioned exactly to his liking. Thorin did not dare intervene in Bilbo's decorating choices, not when the hobbit was so firmly of a mind as to how things Should Be Done.

Thorin was a brave dwarf, to be sure, but his husband was a force of nature, one that Thorin was not inclined to stand in the way of. He learned that when Bilbo was in comfort, he was quite exacting in his routines and his preferences. He preferred to take breakfast in his reading chair with a tray balanced on his knees and a small writing table at his elbow, tending to his correspondence from the morning. For the better part of a week, Thorin gradually shifted that chair until the rising sun shone on the table but not into Bilbo's eyes. 

Bilbo preferred the right side of the bed, and so had it. He complained loudly about cold stone floors until Thorin was able to acquire furs to arrange from the bedside to the wardrobe, where Bilbo kept his slippers. He disliked the color of the threadbare drapes - said as much to anyone who would listen - and so Thorin spent some long hours with various textile swatches, holding them up against the window frame while Bilbo pursed his lips consideringly until finally settling on a color. "For the winter," he added. "In spring we will need to switch, as they'll be too heavy."

If at times Bilbo's eyes glittered with something like speculation as he ordered the King of Erebor imperiously around their chambers, and if that wicked gleam brought unexpected heat to Thorin's face, neither one of them mentioned it.

All in all, Thorin was quite content to turn his attentions toward domesticity and Bilbo's fussy preferences thereof. It settled something in his chest to see his Consort taking to the mountain so well, speaking of future seasons as if it were a given he would still be there. Something in Thorin had still suspected Bilbo would return to the Shire, and Bag End - at least until Bilbo sent a raven with quite specific orders about the keeping of that home and the shipment of various furniture and belongings to Erebor. Bilbo meant to stay in the mountain, and Thorin welcomed it, fussiness and all.

Their daylight hours were filled with the business of running a kingdom, and it found them separated more often than not. The duties of a Consort were different than those of a King - Thorin must make himself available to new arrivals, petitioners, and the like, and had no time to manage the logistical minutiae of actually running his kingdom. That fell to Balin and Bilbo, who seemed to be making the best of it. As the bitter winter wore on, Erebor welcomed its scattered people home from the far-flung places they had found themselves. Some days Thorin thought Bilbo might pull all his hair out from the strain of adding so many mouths to feed with such unending frequency.

It meant that Thorin cherished the time they _did_ have to themselves, the time in which they could merely be husbands. It did not tend to come until after sundown, when the evening meal had concluded and anything that could not be settled in the course of the day was scheduled for review the next morning.

This, too, was governed by routine. Bilbo returned to his reading chair, this time to read for pleasure, the soft light from a wall sconce bathing the pages. Thorin would usually settle in by the fire, seeing to what small tasks of mending could occupy his time until Bilbo wearied of his reading and they retired to bed.

Thorin had not been especially experienced in bedsport when they first came together. He had confessed as much to Bilbo, candidly and without embarrassment, only to become dry-mouthed at the speculative light that lit up Bilbo's eyes. Bilbo likened it to a dance, and seemed to take great pleasure at guiding Thorin through its steps, until Thorin was certain he had it down by rote.

That, it seemed, was the problem.

Their routine had them in bed tonight somewhat earlier than usual, and Thorin was determined to take his time. There was not much he enjoyed more than having Bilbo's eyes fixed on him through a haze of pleasure, the way they were now, with his lips parted and reddened from biting, a bright flush across his face. Bilbo sat propped against the headboard as Thorin teased him with calloused fingertips, light touches against soft skin. Thorin swept the palms of his hands gently over Bilbo's ribs, down over his hips, curling around his thighs.

Bilbo was usually vocal. Today, aside from the hisses of indrawn breath and the huffs of expelled sighs, there was none of his usual impatient moaning and choked-off exclamations when Thorin's exploring fingers found sensitive places on his body. A small voice of uncertainty began prickling at the back of Thorin's mind. Was he doing something wrong? Was Bilbo not feeling well - or perhaps upset with him?

Thorin kissed him long and slow, running his palms up the inside of Bilbo's thighs. He shifted his grip to Bilbo's hips and pulled, shuffling backward on the bed until he knelt cradled between Bilbo's thighs.

Bilbo's hands moved then, where they had only sat curled in the bedclothes before. He put one palm against Thorin's cheek and the other in the middle of his chest and pushed - away. "Stop, Thorin just - just stop for a moment."

Immediately, Thorin yanked his hands back as if burned, sitting back on his heels in the middle of the bed, a stab of uncertainty piercing his breast. Bilbo scooted back, putting distance between them, until he sat propped against the headboard once more. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No- yes-" Bilbo closed his eyes and held up a finger, his mouth drawn tight and his brow pinched. Thorin stilled his tongue, though his mind ached with questions, and waited. He knew that gesture, and that expression - it was the one Bilbo wore before he broached some point of contention between the two of them.

Thorin had never expected them to quarrel over _this_ , and his heart nearly sank into his stomach. It spurred him into speaking despite himself. "If you don't wish for us to-"

"Hush," Bilbo said, and Thorin's jaw snapped shut instantly. Bilbo's eyes opened at that, fixing him with a stare that was full of the same calculating look Thorin had seen sometimes before, when Bilbo made an absentminded request and Thorin obeyed without hesitation. Bilbo took a long breath and let it out slowly, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth, and Thorin could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "I'm not upset with you, Thorin, there's no call to look as if I am. I merely - well. Have you not noticed that this," here he gestured vaguely between the two of them and their nakedness, "usually goes in the same way every time?"

It was at once relieving and frustrating. Thorin had not liked to think Bilbo was upset with him. "Do you not enjoy it?"

"I do, I do," Bilbo said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself. "It's only - well, I know there are times when I do the, erm. The taking. You enjoy that, don't you?"

"Yes." The answer was immediate, given almost as soon as Bilbo finished his question. Thorin certainly _did_ enjoy it - more than was probably seemly for a warrior and a king, in fact. "You wish we would do that more often." It was not a question. Bilbo wouldn't have brought this up, even in his oblique, roundabout way, if he didn't.

"It's not only that, Thorin, it's-" Bilbo put his tongue between his teeth again, and Thorin found himself scowling.

"You need not dance around your words with me, or have fear of offending me. We are both well aware that you are the more experienced between us. If you wish for something-"

"Thorin, stop." Again, Thorin's words cut off as if sheared by a knife, and he went silent instantly. He wasn't even certain why that note of command in Bilbo's voice effected him so strongly. "I'll say it plainly, then. I'm not of a mind to enjoy being moved around like a toy. I don't think you do it out of malice, or entitlement, and so it doesn't _anger_ me, but it does make our bedsport considerably less enjoyable."

Now annoyance pricked even more sharply. "You had only to _say_ so, and I would stop. I would have stopped immediately if I knew - I never wish to make you feel like... like a possession."

"I know, which is why I never said - it seemed like such a small matter to annoy myself over, and you didn't have any ill intent, that much I could figure out for myself." Bilbo looked at him speculatively, his head tilted. "There's more to it, only..." he seemed to divine the frustration in Thorin's scowl and hastily added, "I am not trying to dissemble, it's only that - Thorin, I don't think I've properly expressed before how envious I am at your ability to talk about such matters without shame. It's not... _proper_."

"In front of others, perhaps not." Thorin's annoyance was fading, to be replaced again by confusion. "In the privacy of our own chambers, when it is only the two of us?"

"Old habits," Bilbo said wryly. "I believe... I think it might be best if I _show_ you."

That was how their explorations had gone from the beginning, and Thorin nodded quickly. "If you cannot bring yourself to express in words what you want."

Bilbo's face was red, and he himself looked near as frustrated as Thorin. "You never object when I tell you to do something. Never complain. Never even protest." Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but Bilbo held up a hand, and he shut it again immediately. "There - that. Exactly like that." The speculative gleam in his eye was back, only now there was heat underpinning it, and Thorin's mouth parted on a sharp inhale. Bilbo put his fingers to his lips in silent contemplation for a long moment, his eyes tracking over Thorin in a way that made Thorin's cheeks grow warm and his cock stir again from where it had softened.

"Lie down on your back," Bilbo said, hushed but firm. "Over here. Keep your hands at your sides."

A prickling wave of desire swept over Thorin at the note of command in his husband's voice, and he moved to obey without thinking, his pulse beating loud in his ears. Bilbo turned until he was kneeling by Thorin's side on the bed, one hand pressed in the center of Thorin's chest. Though the pressure was light, it felt like it forced the breath from him.

Without thinking, Thorin went to cup Bilbo's face in his palms - he wanted to kiss him, but a rebuking tsk from Bilbo made him freeze in place, hands hovering above Bilbo's skin. "Already forgetting to do as you're told," Bilbo said, and there was something in his tone that Thorin had not heard before.

Chastisement.

Against all reason, it made his blood pound quicker, made him gasp in a ragged breath, his chest rising under Bilbo's palm. He had not yet dropped his hands, still inches from Bilbo's face.

"Oh," Bilbo breathed, as if he'd made some kind of discovery. "I thought so."

Thorin could not formulate the words to ask what suspicion had been confirmed. Bilbo's hand left his chest only to wrap around his wrist, joined by its twin on the opposite wrist. Slowly, giving Thorin every opportunity to resist or refuse, Bilbo pushed his hands back against the bed and drew them up to the headboard. He coaxed Thorin into wrapping his fingers around the wooden rails. He was close enough to kiss, but Thorin held still.

Bilbo leaned back, stroking his fingers down Thorin's bare arms as he did. "Now. I want you to leave your hands there, just like that. Don't move them." His voice was firm, but his expression was anything but sure - he looked vaguely faint, his eyes wide and fixed on Thorin's face.

Thorin nodded, lips parted, wordless. His pulse pounded in his ears, his blood heating. He was half-hard already and Bilbo had barely touched him. It was so different than those fleeting moments when pleasure stole over Bilbo's face at Thorin's unquestioning compliance. Now, Bilbo's eyes were bright and focused on him with an almost hungry gleam. His teeth flashed in a brief grin at Thorin's nod, and then he sat back on his heels, his gaze traveling over Thorin's naked body with undisguised pleasure.

He did not touch, but brought his hands to hover just above Thorin's skin, following the path of his eyes from Thorin's wrists down to his shoulders. It was barely a whisper of body heat, but it felt to Thorin as if it burned. He quivered with the effort of keeping himself still - it felt so important, not to disappoint Bilbo in this. His breath came faster, but Bilbo moved with him, keeping his hands hovering just above Thorin's chest as he trailed them down over the plane of Thorin's stomach, still lean from hard travel and thinned provisions.

Bilbo lifted his hands away and shifted, bringing that teasing not-touch to Thorin's ankles, then the line of his calves, his thighs, the divots of his hips. It was when the heat of one palm hovered over the hard length of Thorin's cock, not an inch away, that Thorin began to quake in earnest, the muscles of his thighs tense and shaking.

He did not know when his eyes had fallen closed, but he opened them now, staring down at Bilbo in mute supplication. Bilbo only lifted his eyebrows, his hand cupped but not touching. The moment stretched between them, long and expectant.

"Please." Thorin's voice cracked on the word.

"Lovely," Bilbo breathed, and rocked the heel of his hand against the base of Thorin's cock.

The groan that ripped from him was punctuated by a creak from the headboard as his hands tightened. He could not stop his hips from rocking up into that touch, not after the way Bilbo had teased him with the anticipation. And still, he kept his hands where he had been bid to put them, and after that first surge of movement, he stilled again.

"Goodness, _look_ at you," Bilbo said, his fingers now wrapped around Thorin's cock and moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. "I wish you could see yourself like this. Debauched already, and I've barely started."

Thorin could find no words to answer that. His face was flushed hot, and he turned his head into his arm, his hair falling into his open mouth as he panted. A thought strayed through his mind, that Bilbo had always been able to ply his words to stunning effect in bed, which made it all the more strange that he had been unable to articulate a desire to have this.

This, it seemed, was Thorin on the edge of desperation. Bilbo wrapped his fingers firmly around the base of Thorin's cock and stilled as he dragged the nails of his other hand idly through the black hair of Thorin's thigh, barely catching at the skin beneath. It was ticklish and tantalizing in one. The firm hand around Thorin's cock, warm but immobile, was as much of a tease as the tracing fingernails. Bilbo's caress turned without warning into the brush of fingers over his stones, then the gentle touch of a palm cradling them, holding Thorin pinned in place with only the touch of his hands and his order.

Bilbo's touch left him, and Thorin's eyes opened again to fix on his face. He didn't look faint any longer, his face nearly as red as Thorin supposed his own was. His tongue was caught between his teeth and he looked Thorin over consideringly once again, and Thorin swallowed, trying to calm his breathing.

It was strange and something like weightless, knowing he had no control. Bilbo did not need him to decide or direct or choose. Thorin's only concern was keeping his hands locked around the headboard, as he had been bid - a task that was proving at once simple and hopelessly arousing.

When Thorin's grip relaxed on the headboard, and he was able to breathe without panting, Bilbo moved, surging up Thorin's body to finally claim his mouth. It was firm and demanding, and Thorin could only yield to it, opening his mouth for the press of Bilbo's tongue. Bilbo's fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping over his scalp.

Bilbo was warm atop him, the hard line of his cock pressing against Thorin's stomach. Thorin wanted to touch him so badly - for a moment, one of his hands opened from its grip around the headboard before Thorin remembered himself and slammed it back into place, rattling the wood.

It seemed Bilbo had been watching, perhaps waiting for Thorin to slip. He sat up, pulling his lips away and drawing a long groan of regret from Thorin. "Stop?" he asked, and Thorin shook his head hard.

"Kiss me again?" Thorin wanted it - he was inflamed with the careful, implacable control with which Bilbo seemed to hold him in his hands, steering the course of their lovemaking with an expert's touch and the same no-nonsense will he had displayed since Thorin had first known him. Just as it had been fascinating and dismaying to Thorin from the very start, so it was now, with Bilbo shaking his head with a small smile to Thorin's request.

"I think we've seen that kissing makes you forget yourself," Bilbo said, his eyes flicking to the headboard. The wicked light was back in his eyes, and Thorin's breath caught, his mind tripping into blankness, when Bilbo leaned down and laid his tongue along the throb of Thorin's pulse.

He began a torment of a different kind than before, his fingers settling on Thorin's ribs and his mouth sliding down over Thorin's collarbone, to his chest. He paused, letting anticipation wind tight between them again, before his tongue flattened over Thorin's nipple.

The headboard rattled again, but Thorin did not forget himself and let go, lest Bilbo stop and devise some new method of torment. "Bilbo please," he groaned, arching his back and pressing his chest into the heat of Bilbo's mouth. Bilbo hummed, rolling Thorin's other nipple between his fingers, plucking it into a peak. He transferred his mouth there, teeth scraping the nub. He lingered no longer there than he had on the other before he continued his downward path, scraping his teeth over the muscles of Thorin's stomach.

Once again, he avoided Thorin's cock entirely. Instead he bit at the insides of Thorin's thighs, sucked at the crease where his hipbone ended, all while his hands were locked around Thorin's knees, holding his legs spread.

" _Bilbo!_ " Thorin sounded wretched with desire now, the wood of the headboard digging into his palms. "What do you want of me?" He gasped for air, but the dam had broken and he could not stem his words. "Will you not _take_ me? I cannot stand this - you must, I must have you inside me. _Please_ , Bilbo, you will undo me-"

"More of that, I should think," Bilbo said, his voice thick, the heat of his breath puffing over Thorin's cock. Thorin could not lift his head to look, but he strained, his hips surging into nothing as Bilbo pulled back. "Impatient." He clicked his tongue at Thorin again, that mild rebuke. "Hold still for a moment."

The bed dipped, and then all heat left him. Thorin could barely keep his eyes open by now, drunk with lust and dizzy with Bilbo's touch. He was frozen in place again with only that mild instruction to hold still. He stared half-lidded at the ceiling until the creak of the mattress heralded Bilbo's return.

The touch of slick fingers to the cleft behind Thorin's stones was enough to tear another desperate sound from his chest. Even as he did as Thorin asked, Bilbo was methodical, bordering on interminable. Thorin's thighs quivered after two fingers - they outright shook from three. Sight was an uncertain thing, eyelids heavy and vision hazed with pleasure. When Bilbo at last determined that he had begged prettily enough - for he had not stopped, his beseeching words interspersed with ragged sounds and heaving breaths - he finally pulled his fingers free, cupping Thorin's cock in his slick hand only briefly before sinking slowly into him, inch by torturous inch. Thorin's eyes blurred wet in sheer relief, a creaking groan falling from his open mouth.

Now all of Bilbo's teasing was at an end. He snapped his hips hard, driving into Thorin, nails digging into Thorin's thighs, as if he was releasing all of the desire he had held tightly at bay while he coaxed Thorin out of his mind and into a pliant creature of want. Thorin clung to the headboard and shouted with it, unable to still his tongue or stay his voice. Bilbo's gasps grew more ragged as Thorin's heels slipped on the bed, the muscles in his arms bunched, twisting and pushing back against the hard strokes of Bilbo's cock inside him.

Bilbo had but to move one hand from its grip on Thorin's thigh to encircle his cock, stroking once, before Thorin came across his own chest, stripes of hot fluid against his skin. He may have cried out, or his mouth may have merely worked in silence - the ringing in his ears drowned it all out. Then the length of Bilbo's cock left him, and Thorin forced wet, heavy eyelids to open, watching Bilbo's hand, slick with oil and Thorin's seed, fly over Bilbo's own cock until he spilled on Thorin's skin as well, marking the insides of his thighs and his stretched hole. Bilbo stared, transfixed, his thumb stroking over Thorin's knee.

Then he took a swift breath and looked up at Thorin, as if reminded of something. He climbed up Thorin's body and gently brought his hands - one palm damp with sweat, the other with the evidence of their lovemaking - to Thorin's fingers. Thorin started, and under his gentle direction, loosed his grip on the headboard reluctantly.

"Shh, it's alright," Bilbo whispered, guiding his hands down and away from their position. Some of the blank haze was clearing from Thorin's mind, and he flexed his fingers, hissing as a cramp shot through his palm.

Bilbo was swift in locating a cloth to wipe his hands, but made no move to do the same to the cooling mess on Thorin's skin - which drew no protest from Thorin, not when Bilbo immediately returned to bed and curled against his side, drawing one of Thorin's hands to him and pressing his thumbs into the meat of of the palm. It served to ease the cramp some, and set Thorin to floating again, his mind still blessedly clear of all concern.

"There are some... books, which I read when I was still young and somewhat impressionable. Rather torrid tales which I daresay wouldn't stand the test of scrutiny from grown, more experienced tastes-" Bilbo stopped himself, seemingly realizing he had strayed from the point of his statement, and started again. "It gave me to realize that the sweet romances of the ballads, even those that may include what happens in the bower on the hero and his lady's wedding night, are not all there is to desire and lovemaking. There are folk who prefer to go down on their knees for their bed partners, give their will to the other in trust that it will be cherished as a gift. And there are those, which I'm sure you've figured out by now I'm one of, who delight in using pleasure as a torment to test the bounds of that obedience." Bilbo paused. "And sometimes pain as well, but I never did find that as appealing as the idea of control through command alone."

Thorin's tongue still felt heavy and slow, but he was beginning to come back to himself more with each passing word, and the way Bilbo's fingers carded gently through his hair. "If this is what you wished all along, I wish you had only said," he murmured. "I am... I cannot explain. You were like a crucible, and you smelted me as you wished." He looked up at Bilbo, catching that carefully composed expression again. "I would have you do that again, and anything more you see fit to torment me with."

Bilbo's face broke into a soft smile, and he lowered his lips to Thorin's. Once more, Thorin's mouth parted eagerly for him, but this time he left his hands limp in Bilbo's grasp, where he still massaged them slowly. Bilbo pulled away with a low hum. "Very good," he said, his smile broadening at the way Thorin flushed. "I suppose we should get you cleaned up." His eyes tracked over the glistening wetness on Thorin's chest, his thighs, the limp shaft of his cock. "Pity."

Thorin craned his neck, beseeching another kiss. Bilbo granted it. After they parted, Bilbo slowly drew him up from the bed, though he still felt as if his limbs were heavy and weighed down with the memory of pleasure, and directed him into the bath. Thorin went without complaint, as he always had with Bilbo ever since he had fallen beneath a warg and faced certain death, only to have Bilbo come hurtling from nowhere to save him.

He could think of no other person in the entirety of Middle Earth he would rather entrust his will to.


End file.
